“Didn't you know it before you gave up a good blacksmith business to go out in the hot sun and suffer torment, all for nothing?” “It is very hard work,” acknowledged Chick, showing his flushed and streaming face under his vizor. “If I were not used to the fires of the forge I think I would fall down and die. But I must keep on.” “But you are simply an advertising-sign.” “I have modified my mission. I have not given up, however. I will tell thee! I found a man beside the way--a man who had been drinking strong waters and whose pockets had been turned wrong side out. So I took him to a tavern and I sat with him through the night, and nursed him when he suffered, and revealed my mission when he awoke. 'I am out to do good to all men,' I told him, and he searched through his pockets with blasphemy, and he said that I had done him--and he haled me before the court, and the judge said that no man could publicly profess such disinterestedness and escape suspicion, because people in these days are all looking for the main chance. So he did not believe me and he sentenced me to the jail. But a good Samaritan interceded for me and took me from behind the bars, and now in the spirit of gratitude I am repaying him; he makes and sells this stove-polish.” “That man is evidently shrewd in business and a good advertiser,” commented Farr. “I find that I get along much better in the world,” asserted the knight-errant. “Now that I carry an advertising-sign my armor attracts no rude mobs. I can go abroad and do good to a foolish world; I can use the stipend my good benefactor allows to me for my work and I can help poor folks here and there. Therefore, I am content with my modified mission. Is thee more at peace with the world?” “I ought to be, after hearing you say that _you_ are contented,” said Farr, with irony. “Thee has manifestly improved thy condition, so I observe.” “It often happens in this world, Friend Chick, that the sleeker we are on the outside, the more ragged we are within. I think I'll move on. I might say something to jar your sense of sublime content. I'd be sorry to do that. Real contentment is a rare thing and must be handled very carefully.” “I fear thee loves thyself too much,” chided the Quaker. “Affection for somebody might make thee happy, my friend.” Farr choked back the comment that occurred to him in regard to love and walked away. VII THE RAKE WHICH GROPED IN DARK WATERS The afternoon was waning, but the hot bowl of the sky seemed to shut down over the city more closely. Farr held to the shaded sides of the streets, and yearned for a patch of green and a tree and its shade.